


Three Christmases

by Lucyemers



Series: Seasonal [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9044015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/pseuds/Lucyemers
Summary: Three Christmases, the first many years pre-canon, the last six months post-canon.





	1. Mother and Child

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Morseverse fandom. :)
> 
> Please forgive minimal typos. I've been typing on my phone while traveling.

She knew it was snowing somehow before she opened her eyes. Maybe it was the unaccustomed silence that had woken her. From the bed she could just make out the flakes outside the window, soft and cold and peaceful but somehow also relentless like the hard wood of the headboard behind her. 

She daren’t move. It had taken Win nearly an hour of furtive near pleading carols to finally quiet Joan into a state restful enough that she might finally, blessedly drift off. Exhausted she must have nodded off herself. She peered down at the sleeping face tucked beneath her chin. She allowed her thumb the slightest movement across the the thick wool jumper fearing any kiss or caress might wake her, start the coughing and crying and her own worries spiraling like the little eddies of snow just outside the bedroom window.

The doctor had assured her that her daughter was only mildly colicky, that she shouldn’t worry, that as long as she had no fever she was out of harm’s way. She lowered her head just a breath to touch the tip of her nose to the soft curls of her baby’s head then risked brushing her lips across her forehead. No fever. She sighed. A child’s coughs were an easier worry than all the others. Ring a doctor, hear a few reassuring words check a temperature, and then rest in the knowledge of small measurable things that might ease one particular fear for one particular moment. She felt the twinkle of a smile on her lips as she imagined Fred finding her fretting endearing, and then felt the sting of tears as she pushed his smile out of her mind, quickly, not an easy worry, no one to call for reassurance, nothing to check. Just a smile in the back of her mind that it would not do to think much on at Christmas. It had taken her an hour to stop one of them crying. It would take much longer if the other of them started. She looked out the window once more, slowing her breathing to match Joan’s.


	2. Comfort and Joy

“Come in for a quick warm up.” From the driver's side Morse can see the warmly lit window of the Thursdays’ front room. 

“I shouldn't, Sir. Starting to snow.” 

“So it is.” Thursday puts a gloved hand out the opened passenger side door to confirm the tiny crystals. His face is awash with a weariness that Morse knows is reflected in his own and he isn't looking forward to his own cold, dark room. A kidnapping just before Christmas was hard enough on him, but he suspects it was harder on a man with children of his own, however grown they might be. But they made their arrests and delivered the child home where she is presumably tucked into her bed awaiting Father Christmas. 

He watches Thursday sigh and look toward the house and his face relaxes into a kind of tired joy. “Didn't think we'd be free of this one in time for Christmas dinner.” He glances back at Morse as if only just remembering he’s there, his slight reverie of hearth and home interrupted. “Christmas Eve, Morse. Mrs. Thursday would never let me hear the end of it if I let you miss her mulled wine.” He glances at him pointedly in mock affront. “Is that really how you want me to spend my holiday?” Morse decides it's a losing battle to refuse, and perhaps one he doesn't want to fight.

Thursday doesn't quite make it out of his coat before Win pulls him into an embrace and a kiss. “Convinced this one to stay” he says gesturing to Morse. “Oh!” She says in slight surprise, her hands on her husband's shoulders, she peers around him to smile in surprise at Morse. He can't help noticing a slight blush to her cheeks and wonders if it's embarrassment at his having witnessed what she assumed was a private moment, or warming from the wine. Most likely both he concludes as she smiles warmly and pulls him into a hug. “We won't say any more about it, but I'm so glad you're done with this one. She's home where she belongs. And so are you both”,she proclaims matter of factly. “I'm just finishing supper. Go and have a sit”.

The house is steeped in cinnamon and clove and he follows the hiss and crackle of the record he can hear just beneath Sinatra's crooning in the sitting room. “Sam!” Joan has Sam’s hand and is tugging it petulantly, but he has flopped down on the sofa laughing and protesting. He spots Morse and without missing a beat says, “You must know how to waltz, Morse. You take this dance so she'll let me alone.” Joan turns to him arms still in waltzing stance and shrugs a bit apologetically saying, “The Christmas Waltz. It's my favorite” then, with a merry smirk and only a bit of teasing, “Surely you know how.” 

Reluctantly ,and not reluctantly at all, he takes one of her hands, perfectly red nails, to match her lipstick he notices before quickly looking down at his own feet, willing them to work, to make at least passable steps. “I was taught before, yes. Years ago, in university.” He rests his other hand on the small of her back. If he can't manage perfect form at least, maybe he can manage a firm lead, something more than clumsy and exhausted. “You seem to remember alright” she says as they pick up the steps, the song already halfway through. She smiles meeting his eyes, then looks down at their feet shyly. He can see her counting in her head but even so, she's good. She leans into him just slightly and she moves perfectly in time to the song. “Where did you learn?” he asks. She laughs, “Dad. When I was little.” He laughs a bit as well. It seems an odd idea Thursday waltzing, but he remembers how he carried the child, wrapped in a blanket up the steps of her parents’ flat this evening no more than an hour earlier, so natural in his soft comforting words to her, and it's no difficult task to imagine him spinning Joan about this room as a child, her stocking feet on top of his shoes to better match his steps. 

They only have a few more bars of the song and he looks at the tree alight and full and the snow softly falling outside the window. He allows himself only quick glances at her. Sam has gone off to set the table and he can't quite meet her eye, he's afraid if he does his face might betray his own giddy happiness, to be here with her, dancing with her right through his own relieved exhaustion, effortlessly, unquestionably included by all of them.


	3. Muddle Through

There's a knock at the door and she goes reluctantly to answer it. Jane is there a suitcase in hand, all bundled up for her drive. “Just wanted to say Happy Christmas before I left, Joan You've decided to stay? You know you're more than welcome to come with me. Mum would be happy to have you. She didn't like the idea of you staying here on your own at Christmas. Or I can still give you a ride to the station to catch a train home if you’d like?”

It all comes out in a rush and her voice is all concern, but her eyes and hands are darting around, checking her handbag for keys, checking the time, glancing out the hall window to make sure the weather isn't threatening. Joan sighs and glances quickly around her disheveled room, no suitcase packed, no decision made. She doesn't have time to explain to this woman, who might only be called a friend in as much as they share the same roof, why she can't make up her mind the day before Christmas Eve, how six months away might not be enough, how she's afraid if she goes back she'll give in and stay, especially at Christmas when everything is uncommonly wonderful in a way she has never quite realized until the lack of it in this moment makes her nearly short of breath. “I'll be fine”, she says. “Happy Christmas.” 

She watches Jane load her suitcase into the car and drive away. She contemplates the hallway phone. “Maybe tomorrow”,she thinks and goes back to her room.


End file.
